


Sweet Release - Part Three

by ladydragon76



Series: Sweet Release [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: KINK: BDSM, KINK: D/s, KINK: bondage, M/M, Warning: violence, warning: character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2293148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> None of them thought it’d end up this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Release - Part Three

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** Sweet Release  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Bluestreak/Jazz/Prowl  
>  **Warnings:** BDSM, Character Death, Violence  
>  **Notes:** For Boots! Thank you, dear heart! It’s been so fun writing this series for you.

“Alrighty. Big news first,” Jazz said, gaze sweeping around the conference table. “Megatron’s dyin’.”

“What?!” Prime exclaimed.

“Well slag me,” Ironhide said as he leaned back and slumped a bit in his chair.

Wheeljack’s hands came up to cover his blast mask. “Whoa.”

“Dying? As in not dead yet?” Red Alert asked.

“Let’s contact the Decepticons,” Optimus said, standing from his seat. “Ratchet, gather- Why are you shaking your head? This isn’t-”

“Not that easy, boss bot,” Jazz said, his tone apologetic. “He’s fadin’. Got a sizable crack in his spark crystal.” It hurt to witness the desperate look Prime gave Ratchet.

“Jazz brought me all the scans he’s capable of doing.” Ratchet shook his helm again. “I’m sorry, Optimus, but even if he’s still alive at this very moment, there’s nothing I can do to save him. There was nothing I could do at the time Jazz took the scans, and there would have been nothing I could have done at the time the injury was received.”

Prime sank back into his chair. “But Cliffjumper? His crystal was damaged. He guttered. I read your report, and now he’s up and moving.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet said, leaning forward, one hand reaching out though he was too far across the table to touch Prime. “Cliffjumper’s crystal was scratched and compressed. His life was in real danger, but that’s very different from the crack Megatron has. His containment is broken, spark energy leaking out. There’s no glue, no fancy procedure, nothing I or anyone else can do but keep him comfortable until he’s gone.”

“Which Hook’s doin’,” Jazz added. “It’s bad, Prime. I’d’a slipped a knife in as a mercy for him cuz I don’t think even Megatron deserves ta just fade off, but then they’d’ve known I was there.” He shook his head. “Ain’t no savin’ him.”

“We should try. You don’t know-”

“Optimus,” Ratchet cut in, voice firm and even a little sharp. “ _I_ know. I’ve looked at every scan, every image capture, and they all say the same thing. Megatron is dying, and even my skills have limits.”

Ironhide cycled his vents and sat up straight. “Good. It’s gonna be messy, but good.”

“It’s not good!” Optimus nearly shouted. “Primus.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, optics shut for a moment. “That was damage I inflicted. This is not how I wanted the war to end.”

“But it is a possible end,” Prowl said, speaking for the first time. “As upsetting as this is for you, sir, this could be the end of the war. Or at least the beginning of the end.”

“And that was my thought when I planted a few surprises around the _Victory_.”

“I thought you didn’t want them to know you had been there?” Red Alert asked. “If you left surprises anyway, you could have made the confirmed kill on Megatron.”

“Twofold there, Red.” Jazz held up his index finger. “First, I was thinkin’ about the future treaty we might be able ta get with the ‘Cons. Not gonna be as willin’ ta deal with us if we snuck on in and murdered Megatron when he was already down and out. I mean, Hook’s got him dosed inta recharge until he’s gone anyways.”

“Kinda surprised myself that none of the ‘Cons’ve given him a mercy killin’,” Ironhide said.

“Too unstable,” Jazz replied. “No one wants ta be the one. Well, except Starscream, but he knows better than ta do it now even if he is sayin’ they oughta. They’d all call him a coward if he did, and then he’d lose the control he’s managed ta scrape together so far.”

Jazz added his middle finger to the first, switching both back and forth a little. “The number two reason is that my surprises are all going to look like completely normal failures. Someone didn’t tighten this bolt enough. The rust’s gotten outta control over here, and the ocean’s leakin’ in. Oh no, the water’s shortin’ everything out.” He pointed both fingers at Red Alert. “Ya see? Tryin’ ta keep ‘em busy and down there because the other bit o’ big news is that there’s supposedly old weapons grade plutonium under those warehouses. Starscream didn’t like Megs’ plan, but he still wants it.”

“Spread it on some titanium toast, could make a nice breakfast,” Wheeljack snickered.

“We cannot allow the Decepticons to obtain plutonium,” Prowl said.

“Nah.” Wheeljack waved a hand. “Whatever it actually is in there, we can either get it and hand it over to the humans-”

“I would rather not,” Prime said.

“-or we can have Skyfire fly it out into space and launch it off into the black,” Wheeljack finished, helm fins blinking in a smile.

“That would be preferable. Humans or Decepticons,” Optimus said, his voice heavy with sadness, “both, I fear, would only use it as a weapon.”

Red Alert huffed. “Launch it. Yes. Now, I’d like to go back and address why anyone thinks a peace treaty with _Starscream_ would even be possible?”

“Hang on,” Jazz said. “Priorities. I went back ta the warehouses after I left the ‘Cons. Soundwave’s barely lettin’ his kids out, so I figured since I knew they weren’t watchin’ I’d better take the chance.

“I found where they were diggin’, tryin’ ta get down inta that bunker. What we needa do first is get a team over there and crack that safe before Starscream feels stable enough in his power ta try for it again. He gets that, and peace is right off the table no matter what the chances of it right now are.”

“You seem fairly certain of Starscream taking command,” Prime said. “Are they truly going to accept him? What of Soundwave?”

Jazz was nodding before Prime even finished his questions. “He’s got his trine backin’ him somehow. Soundwave’s not even in the runnin’. Looks like he’s waitin’ ta see who comes out on top, and from what I saw, he might even be subtlety supportin’ Starscream.”

“Could be he’s got his own little plot goin’,” Ironhide suggested.

“Maybe, but I kinda doubt it,” Jazz replied. “He’s scared. Like I said, he’s keepin’ them kids close. No one likes him, lots fear him, and he knows it. Starscream’s biggest competition was Onslaught when I left. Triplechangers were makin’ noise, but they ain’t got any support.”

Wheeljack pushed his chair back, and looked to Prime. “Why don’t I grab Percy, Hoist, Grapple, and Skyfire, maybe even Beachcomber too. Ya don’t really need me here for the political machinations, and I’m feelin’ a sense of urgency ta get inta that bunker.”

“Yes,” Prime agreed. “Use every safety precaution. We do not know the conditions in that bunker, and I do _not_ want any of you injured or the environment to suffer from contamination.”

Wheeljack tossed Prime a salute, nodded to the other officers, then hurried out.

Optimus sighed, and leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced. “I’m not sure what we can actually decide on right now. We can speculate and guess all day, but until we know which Decepticon takes over, there’s no sense making too many concrete plans.”

“Got Shockwave ta consider too,” Ironhide said.

“That’s another thing.” Jazz’s fingers taped a quick rhythm on the tabletop. “Mysteriously enough, the ‘Cons can’t reach Cybertron.” He held up both hands as Red Alert, Ironhide, and Prowl’s mouths all opened. “Wasn’t me. Their long range communications are down, and I overheard Scrapper complainin’ about us ‘Bots having glitched the space bridge. But since I know we didn’t, I’m not sure who did. I got some suspicions, but no proof, and more than that, no one with authority is doin’ anything ta fix either issue. I think, for now at least, we don’t have ta worry about Shockwave showing up ta take command.” He shrugged. “Maybe in a few days. Depends who wins the power struggle in the _Victory_ , or how desperate Soundwave gets.”

“I want to think on all of this,” Optimus said and stood. “Unless there is Decepticon activity, we’ll meet tomorrow morning to discuss this more. Dismissed.”

Jazz frowned as Ratchet shoved himself from the table and rushed out the door after Optimus. Ironhide grumbled something and followed them out.

“Ridiculous. We should be making a decisive strike now,” Red Alert muttered as he gathered up his datapads and then left.

Jazz smiled at Prowl once they were alone. “Hey, babe.”

Prowl gave him a slight smile in return. “Prime is very unhappy about Megatron.”

“Yeah.” Jazz slid out the door just ahead of Prowl, and then settled in at his side as they walked toward his office. “Knew he’d be, but I didn’t expect him ta call such an abrupt end ta the meetin’.”

“Is there more to tell?”

“Not much. Nuances. Things I noticed.” Jazz slipped his hand into Prowl’s, daring the public contact. Primus, he’d missed him while gone. “Stuff that’s more suited ta us goin’ over first anyways.”

“Then let’s stop by the common room for a cube each first. We can go over all that today.”

“Sounds good.”

~ | ~

“What’re ya thinkin’ for tonight?” Jazz asked with a bright smile.

“I feel rather good right now. What do you need?”

Jazz shrugged, and rounded the corner to Bluestreak’s quarters. “Feelin’ good too. Sucks slag the way he’s dyin’, but I’m havin’ a real hard time feelin’ bad about Megs.” He flashed a grin. “Probably oughta be punished for that, huh? Ain’t very kind-sparked of me.”

Prowl’s lips compressed into a line, and then twisted to the side a little. “Given all the horror he’s inflicted on us, our world, this planet…” He shook his helm. “I’m having a very difficult time believing you need punished for a lack of empathy. I think the only one I feel for is Prime.”

“Yeah. Poor boss bot.” Jazz pressed Bluestreak’s call button. “Well, tonight’s for us. We’ll worry about Optimus in the morning. Ratch and Hide’ll take care of him until then.”

The door opened, and Bluestreak stuck his smiling face into the hall. “Jazz! I’d heard you were back. You’re ok? You look ok. Wanna come in?” He stepped back, and Prowl and Jazz entered with greetings and smiles of their own.

~

Smokescreen frowned at the door. Everyone knew about Jazz and Prowl. Unfortunately. What Prowl saw in a mech like Jazz was beyond him, but what were they doing with Bluestreak now? What? Was Jazz collecting Praxians?

With a quick glance around to be sure no one else was coming down the hall, Smokescreen leaned next to the door, dialed up the gain on his audials, and listened. Most of the words were indistinct, but then things went past words in an obvious way, and he snorted. Frag this. He had been gently chasing Prowl’s taillights for vorns, he was done with being subtle, but there wasn’t a slagging thing he’d be able to do about it tonight.

~

“I’m really glad you’re back safe, Jazz. I was worried, and I know Prowl was too.” Bluestreak dropped into his chair, smiling as Jazz and Prowl sat in what he was quickly coming to think of as their spots.

“It all went fine for me,” Jazz said.

“Is it true?” Bluestreak asked, expression sobering. “About Megatron?”

Jazz gave him a solemn nod. “Yeah. It won’t be long if he’s still there even now. Rather not think too much on it tonight though.”

“Yeah, but are you ok? Like more than physically?”

Smiling, Jazz said, “Yeah. In fact we were talkin’ about that on our way over. Neither one of us are feelin’ too broken up about it.”

“Optimus is upset,” Prowl added, “and I feel for him.”

“Yeah that, but not about Megs.” Jazz smirked a little. “Think I need a punishin’?”

Bluestreak snickered. “I think that’s for you to decide.” Jazz only shrugged, so Bluestreak decided he would go fairly light on the cane tonight if they got to that. He shared a glance with Prowl, then met Jazz’s visor. “Did Prowl fill you in on our sessions while you were gone?”

“Yep. And thanks. I was worried, but kept tellin’ myself ya had each other. It was a comfort.” Jazz reached out and squeezed Prowl’s hand where it rested between them on the sofa. “I’m good with ya gettin’ together if I’m not around. Pits, I’m good with ya both spendin’ time with just each other if I am. Just let me know. I can sit off ta the side, or make myself scarce. Whatever works.”

“I think I feel the same,” Prowl said. “I would like to know about it so I do not end up feeling left out, but if you both want a session alone again, I would be fine with that.” His doorwings lifted in a shrug that looked shy and uncertain. “I think my past is still haunting me, but I’ll be honest if I don’t feel I can handle not being present.”

“That sounds good to me,” Bluestreak smiled widely. “I think so long as we keep talking we should all be fine. So what do you want to do tonight?”

“Hold you both,” Prowl replied, face almost instantly going pink.

“I don’t need a beatin’ tonight, but I am feelin’ a little wild.”

Bluestreak rose, and stepped to the middle of his lounge space, grinning as both mechs slipped off the couch and knelt before him. “I think we can work some of that energy out of you.” He took Jazz’s collar first, locking it in place as the visor slid away, and then gave him a light, playful cuff to the helm. “Stay.”

Next, Bluestreak locked Prowl’s collar around his neck, palm sliding over his cheek in a caress. “Hm… What to do with the both of you?” He moved to the sofa, and settled on it sideways, one foot on the floor, the other swinging up to rest along the back. “I think I could use having a little excess charge bled off too.” His panel clicked as it unlocked. “Now which one of you deserves to please me first?”

Jazz licked his lips and growled.

Prowl bit the corner of his lower lip, face blushing hotly and optics going cobalt.

Primus, they were both so perfect, Bluestreak thought, and then smirked as an idea came to him. “Such a difficult choice. You both work _together_ so well, I just don’t know how to choose.”

Jazz almost broke the command to stay, and Prowl hesitated as well, but he stayed put despite not having been given a verbal command. Bluestreak shivered, his panel sliding open and allowing his spike to jut proudly toward the ceiling. The thick, sweet scent of his own lubricant hit his olfactory sensors, and he almost moaned. They were so _perfect_ , and they were his. His to order around. His to command. His to please or make wait.

They would wait too, Bluestreak knew they would. One hand drifted down his torso, and he watched their optics follow the path. He heard their vents kick on as his fingertip brushed up the length of his spike.

“Jazz, would you like to suck my spike?”

Prowl keened.

“Yes, master. Very fraggin’ much.”

Bluestreak smirked, spark giving a harder throb in its crystal. “Prowl, sweetling? Do you want to lick my valve?”

Wordless already, Prowl whimpered and nodded.

Another shiver zinged down Bluestreak’s back. He must really need it himself tonight, he was burning hot already from the power trip. “If you both do a really good job, I might even let you frag each other.” He forced himself to wait, counting off six pounding pulses of his spark before crooking a finger at them.

Jazz launched forward, mouth closing right over Bluestreak’s spike and drawing hard as he pulled back. Bluestreak cried out, louder than he usually was, the sudden, wet heat consuming his spike blazing fire through his lines. “Slow down,” he yelped, and then shouted again as Prowl thrust his tongue in as deeply as he could. “Primus!”

A low chuckle vibrated over his spike, but Jazz obeyed and slowed down. He didn’t ease off any, and Prowl… Bluestreak moaned again, hips canting up. Why hadn’t he ever asked Prowl to do this for him before? The rim of his valve was traced first, and then the flat of Prowl’s tongue lapped over it. Bluestreak rested on hand on Jazz’s helm, and tilted his own to the side, trying to see down to Prowl, but he couldn’t. He reached instead for Prowl’s chevron, thumb lightly stroking the surface as he forced himself to be careful even as he choked on a cry of pleasure.

Jazz was clearly going to the goal, taking Bluestreak’s spike as deep as he could from his current position. His tongue swirled around, off rhythm to Prowl’s plunging little licks. Bluestreak sank into the sensations as bliss rippled across his sensornet, his spark pounding and moans far louder than he usually allowed. Pressure built at the base of his spike and banded around his hips, and try as he might, Bluestreak just didn’t last long, but it was incredibly intense all the same.

He slumped into the sofa, gyros spinning, and then snickered as Jazz tackled Prowl to the floor before Bluestreak could even do more than lift his hand to grant them permission. He watched them through dim optics, panting as his own spark began to slow.

Primus, but they really were just _perfect_ , he thought.

~ | ~

Of all the mechs to run into as he showed Prowl and Jazz out in the morning, Bluestreak had not expected Smokescreen. His quarters weren’t in this corridor, he didn’t really need to walk this way, and while Bluestreak had been willing to blow it off as just happenstance, Smokescreen’s words drew them all up short.

“No.”

“Uh… no?” Bluestreak said at the same time as Prowl, though it came out sounding more like a question.

“What?” Smokescreen said, his smile looking particularly oily in Bluestreak’s rather put-off opinion. “The harem’s gotta have room for one m-”

“Lemme stop ya right there, Smokes,” Jazz interrupted, one hand lifting and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Ain’t no harem. And what we got ain’t nothin’ any of us are lookin’ ta include anyone else in.”

Smokescreen frowned. “I think Bluestreak and Prowl can speak for themselves.”

“I have.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked in annoyance. “I just said no, as did Bluestreak. Now, I believe you have a duty shift to get to.”

Smokescreen’s mouth opened, but whatever he’d been about to say he thought better of it.

“What brought that on?” Jazz muttered.

“I do not know, but I suppose if we wished to keep our relationship a secret we should have been more circumspect.” Prowl shook out his doorwings, then offered Bluestreak a smile. “Shall we? I am hungry and I have quite a lot of work to do yet today.”

Bluestreak shook it off too. Weird, sure, but Smokescreen was weird sometimes, and since Prowl and Jazz weren’t going to worry about the rumor mill, neither was he. He matched Prowl’s smile with one of his own, and asked, “Need an assistant today?”

“Aren’t ya on duty today?” Jazz asked.

“Not until later.”

“If you wish,” Prowl replied. “I don’t want you to feel overworked.”

“Nah.” Bluestreak flicked a hand to the side. “I like helping you. Makes me feel useful.”

~ | ~

Primus, but that’d been the longest patrol shift ever, Bluestreak thought as he entered the common room. The roads had been bad, all wet from the rain, and the humans weren’t nearly as good at driving as he was. He’d been sorely tempted to transform and walk around the traffic jam by the third accident, but they weren’t supposed to announce their presence that way, and Bluestreak didn’t want to make more work for Prowl. At least the heavy downpour had washed off most of the muck and grime. He still needed a good scrub in the washracks, but at least he wasn’t leaving a muddy trail in his wake.

“Blue!”

A bright smile lit Bluestreak’s face. “Sides! Ratchet let you out, huh? No, don’t stand up,” he hurried to say, and crossed quickly to the table the twins were at. “How do you feel? We were all really worried, I mean, everyone knows Ratchet’s great and all, so we knew once he said you’d pull through that you would, but ya know how it is. A good friend’s hurt and you can’t help but worry and fret, right? So how’re you feeling now?”

Sideswipe’s smile wasn’t quite right, but it was there. “I’m good, Blue. Are you doing ok though?”

Bluestreak blinked, and then glanced at Sunstreaker. He was more serious than usual, but then Sideswipe had to be fresh out of the medbay. He wondered about Cliffjumper, and decided he’d stop by. Last mech recovering was always a bit lonely. “I’m fine,” he said honestly, optics shifting back to Sideswipe. He must still look more bedraggled than he thought. “Long shift, gross weather, bad traffic. I’m tired and hungry, but that’s why I’m here. A cube and a good recharge, and I’ll be great.” He chuckled a little, glancing down at his frame. “And a bath.”

Both twins eyed him for a minute, and Bluestreak chuckled. “I promise I’ll give myself a proper polishing after I refuel.” He shook his helm, still snickering as he walked away. He adored the twins, but they were quirky in their own way, and he didn’t always get what they were acting odd about.

“Hello, Bluestreak,” First Aid greeted at the energon dispenser.

“Hey, how’s it going, Aid? Bet you’re glad to have almost everyone out of the medbay, huh? More time with your team?” Bluestreak waited while his cube filled, noting as he usually did what a fragging epic privilege it was to have _fresh_ energon converted directly from the heat of the volcano. It was a novelty that hadn’t worn off for him, and he didn’t mind the wait at all.

“Uh, yes. I’m very happy everyone is healing well.” First Aid hesitated, field flickering with worry in sharp contrast to what he’d said. “I… um. Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you ever need anyone to talk to. Medically or personally. Ratchet taught me how to make a special partition so even with the gestalt bond I can maintain patient confidentiality.”

Well alright then, Bluestreak thought, confused where this was coming from. He smiled anyway. “That’s great, Aid! I’m sure that everyone will appreciate that. You’re a really good medic and no one should be worrying about your brothers knowing silly details anyway just because you fixed them up, but I know a lot of mechs can be really private about things, so I bet knowing you have that partition will really be a comfort to them.” He reached out to pat First Aid’s shoulder, and then pulled his cube from the dispenser.

“Talk to ya later. I need to get a wash. I think I can feel the grime drying in there.”

“Okay.” First Aid’s visor dulled a little before quickly brightening. “Just remember I’m here.”

Still odd, but, well, the twins weren’t the only quirky mechs around. Pits, Bluestreak considered himself quirky. “Thanks, Aid. Bye!”

Bluestreak didn’t even make it to the door before Hound was at his side, a gentle hand resting on Bluestreak’s upper arm to stop him.

“Hey, Hound.” Bluestreak paused and really took in Hound’s expression. “Hey, are you ok?”

“I’m fine, but are you ok?”

Primus, Bluestreak must look really bad if everyone was so concerned. “Yeah.” He scowled a little at the deeper look of worry, and then his spark almost flipped over. He hadn’t talked to Jazz or Prowl yet. What if one of them was hurt? Was that why everyone was acting so weird? And now that he looked around, Bluestreak realized it really was just about everyone present. There were looks of pity and sympathy all around the common room.

What the frag had happened?

Bluestreak glanced back up at Hound, optics wide, then fled, comms opening even as he hurried toward Prowl’s office. // _Prowl? Jazz?_ //

// _Yes, Bluestreak?_ // Prowl replied.

//S’up, Blue? Ya sound a bit stressed,// Jazz said.

Bluestreak slowed, feeling his face heat even as he frowned. // _I’m ok. You guys are alright, right?_ //

// _We are both well, if rather busy,_ // Prowl answered, then said after a short pause, // _Not too busy to see you if you need our help with something._ //

Bluestreak shook his helm, optics rolling toward the ceiling as he silently berated himself. // _No, I’m actually pretty tired. I’ll get you my patrol report in the morning if that’s ok? I’m going to have a cube, then recharge._ //

There was a moment of silence over the comms, then Jazz said, // _Are ya sure ya’re ok, Blue? Ya really sounded a little frantic there at first?_ //

Turning down the hall to the washracks, Bluestreak drained his energon and gave the cube a squeeze to disperse it. // _Everything’s fine. I think I let my imagination get away from me a bit is all._ // Like, a lot, but he didn’t need to be worrying Prowl and Jazz over it. // _More tired than I realized. Good night, guys._ //

There was another pause, and Bluestreak could see in his mind the look the two were likely sharing.

// _Good night, Bluestreak._ //

// _Sleep tight,_ // Jazz added. // _Holler if ya need us._ //

// _Thanks,_ // Bluestreak said in as chipper a tone as he could muster, then closed the comm line. He shook his helm again, and then pushed all the weirdness from his mind. It’d been a long day.

~ | ~

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

“It’s not really any of our business, you know?”

“We’re Autobots. We should look out for each other,” the first voice said.

“That’s just the thing,” a third voice chipped in. “We’re Autobots. This has to be some overblown rumor.”

Bluestreak rounded the corner, smiling at Blaster, Sideswipe, and Bumblebee. An odd gathering, but he greeted them all the same. “Hi, guys. What rumors?”

Bumblebee stuttered a moment, optics going a little pale. “Oh! I’m going to be late for my shift! Hi, Bluestreak. Bye, Bluestreak!”

“Bye,” Bluestreak snickered, and then looked back to Sideswipe and Blaster.

“It’s all nonsense,” Blaster said, and gave Sideswipe a push down the hall. “Wanna get some energon with me?”

Bluestreak didn’t quite buy it, but let it go. “Thanks for the invite, but I have plans. I can walk with you to the common room though. I promised Prowl and Jazz I’d grab them some energon.”

“Spendin’ lots of time with them, huh?”

Bluestreak smirked a bit. It was getting around that he was with them. “Well, yeah. I mean I like them, and they’re really busy right now with everything that’s going on. Prowl’s real stressed, and I know Jazz is really good about hiding it, but he is too, ya know? I’m trying to help them where I can, and they’re both going over some plan or something, so I said I’d get them some energon so they don’t have to break their rhythm.”

“That’s really nice, Blue,” Blaster said.

It was, so why in the Pits did Blaster sound sad about it?

~ | ~

“It’s fragged.”

“It’s _wrong_! They’re officers! What the frag are they doing? And Prowl? Aren’t there rules about this kind of nonsense?”

Bluestreak froze. Primus in the frelling Pits, how many of these conversations was he going to stumble upon? In the last couple days it had only gotten worse and worse.

Oh poor Bluestreak.

Prowl should know better.

Jazz has snapped.

We should to do something. No, haven’t you heard? Bluestreak _likes_ it. Poor kid doesn’t even know he’s being used. Abused more like. Yeah.

Bluestreak’s spark pulsed harder, and he debated just turning around. Bad enough he was technically eavesdropping, but then it was about him. He lost the chance as Tracks and Inferno rounded the corner.

“What _are_ you doing letting them act this way with you?” Tracks asked.

“Tracks,” Inferno chided.

“No, I think it’s disgusting. You deserve far better than being used by two officers.”

Bluestreak scowled at them both. “I’m not sure what business of yours my personal relationships are.” This was ridiculous. What the slag did they all think? That Prowl and Jazz ordered him to their berths to be used and dumped aside? Primus, they didn’t have a clue, and Bluestreak wasn’t about to fill them in.

He pushed past Tracks, ignoring the offended gasp.

~ | ~

Having a session in the middle of the day wasn’t something Bluestreak had done before, but with how busy Jazz and Prowl had been, and how worried they were as the days stretched on and the excavation team still hadn’t reached the bunker, all three of them were willing to take whatever time they could to blow off a little steam. Truth be told, their afternoon romp had held a naughty, ‘look what we’re getting away with’ vibe to it that left Bluestreak feeling like he’d just gotten away with something he shouldn’t have. Jazz and Prowl had left his room relaxed and smiling, refueled and ready to get back to work, and Bluestreak, with nothing else to do even for them, was riding high on a post-overload buzz.

He hummed under his breath while trying to decide which movie to watch when he reached the common room, doorwings perked at a happy angle.

“There you are!”

Bluestreak gasped in surprise as he was grabbed by the upper arm, then dragged by Smokescreen to a seat at a table. He blinked as he was pushed down into a chair, and took in the mechs surrounding him. “Hi, guys. What’s going on?” He flicked his wings, twisting to look at Smokescreen as the other Praxian took the seat next to him.

“You don’t have to let them do this to you, Blue,” Hound said.

“Do what?” Bluestreak asked.

“It’s wrong. I can’t believe it’s happening, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Huffer crossed his arms over his chest, and glowered.

“It’s sick is what it is,” Gears growled.

“What are you-?” Bluestreak started.

“Who even does that?”

Bluestreak shook his helm. “What are you all even talking about?”

“We’re just a bit worried about you, Bluestreak,” Sideswipe added, Sunstreaker nodding. “You know, it’s kinda an imbalance of power.”

“You can’t possibly like it.” Bluestreak missed who’d said that.

Brawn snorted. “There’s the thing. Doesn’t Prowl have rules about this sort of thing? Or is he above his own laws?”

Smokescreen nodded. “Prime should be told.”

“Wait, what?!” Bluestreak held out his hands and shook his helm. “Hold on. There’s no coercion. No one’s using me.”

“Blue…”

“Abuse victims rarely feel safe admitting it.”

“Well, considering who we’re all talking about here, can you blame him?”

“We’re _happy_!” Bluestreak exclaimed, trying to make himself heard over all the voices. He couldn’t even tell who was saying what anymore. “Things are good. No one’s hurting or using anyone.”

They weren’t listening. Why weren’t they listening to him? Bluestreak shook his helm, trying to format the words to explain, but he was so blindsided by this… this… whatever this was, that _he_ had no words.

“We’re here for you, Blue,” Smokescreen said, his expression earnest, but his hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder made his plating crawl.

Bluestreak opened his mouth to say… something, but the claxons blared.

Chairs scraped over the floor, and mechs charged out of the common room as Red Alert’s voice ordered all hands to the entrance ready for combat.

~

Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Grapple managed to hold Starscream and the Decepticons off until the rest of the Autobots arrived, but only because Starscream had impressed upon them the importance of not accidentally detonating the plutonium. Human handling of volatile elements was not exactly up to standard. _No one_ , beyond Wheeljack’s little team knew the condition of the plutonium, and he wasn’t talking for exactly that reason. Starscream was shrieking the warning constantly.

“Don’t shoot at the warehouse! _Idiot_!”

Brawl fired again, trying to shoot back at the source of the precise shots from within the building, and was smacked in the helm by Onslaught.

Overhead Thundercracker and Skywarp shot by, peppering the ground near Prime. Ironhide and Cliffjumper shot up at them as Prime strode forward.

“End this now, Starscream!” Prime shouted. “Megatron could never be reasoned with. Be a better leader than he was.”

Prime dodged a blast from a nullray, Starscream’s optics raging bright. “I am already a better leader than he ever was! Do you know how long that energy source could feed _my_ people?” He fired again.

“There are other, less dangerous ways to source energon,” Prime said even as he dodged aside, words bringing a hush to the battlefield. “We could help you.”

For a moment, everyone paused. Decepticon optics turned to Starscream, but the seeker shook his helm.

“I will not trust an Autobot. Decepticons, _attack_!”

Skywarp appeared just over the main body of Autobots, plasma bolts sending everyone scattering.

// _Sunstreaker, Ironhide, Cliffjumper. I want you to work your way to the warehouse door. Clear a path,_ // Prowl ordered, voice smooth and controlled. // _Aerialbots, launch, engage the Seekers. Keep them busy and away from the buildings. Sideswipe, back up, you’re cover fire today._ //

// _That’s slag!_ // Though Sideswipe obeyed, blasting neat shots just ahead of his twin as Sunstreaker charged across the open flats.

Starscream shouted orders too, but many of the Decepticons weren’t listening to him. Drag Strip dove toward Ironhide’s group. Motormaster roared and began firing at Prime, charging across the ground toward him. Jet engines thundered over the battlefield, Slingshot in hot pursuit of Thrust.

// _Fight to disable,_ // Prime ordered, the impact of his fist on Onslaught ringing over the comms. // _I want prisoners today._ //

// _Ah haha! Yeah!_ // Sideswipe’s next shot put Breakdown out of commission. // _There’s one for ya, Prime!_ //

Jazz fired a few neat shots of his own at Soundwave, but the Decepticon dodged and hunkered down behind an old guardhouse.

// _Where are his little freaks?_ //

// _I don’t see them._ //

// _Missing some other faces too._ //

// _Yeah, where are the Constructicons?_ //

// _Silverbolt here. Clear view from up here. No Constructicons in sight._ //

// _Focus, Autobots,_ // Prowl said. // _That is valuable information, but Mirage, you need to check your seven o’clock. Fireflight, you’re being set up by Thundercracker and Skywarp, dive now, return to formation with Silverbolt. Wheeljack, status?_ //

// _Out of all my fun stuff, but that’s ok cuz I can’t use it with everyone out there now anyways,_ // Wheeljack replied. // _Perceptor’s pickin’ off anyone who gets too close, so we’re just sittin’ tight ‘til we can get out safely._ //

Bluestreak tracked Ramjet as he flew by, but didn’t fire. Slagger’s angle was all wrong, and he couldn’t shoot him down when he’d crash right into the warehouse where the Autobots were working and fighting.

// _Incoming, Prime! I ain’t got a clear shot,_ // Ironhide warned.

// _I have the angle,_ // Bluestreak said, and then fired at Motormaster, managing to wing the mech in his shoulder despite the unexpected crouch he made to pick up a rock. Why a rock though? Where was his blaster? Had he dropped it?

Bluestreak shook the thoughts away. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that the fragger was desperate enough to try to bash _Prime_ with a rock. He needed to be taken down. Bluestreak tracked him, calling out another warning to Prime, but luck was with Motormaster. He stumbled, the plasma bolt barely grazing his back. Bluestreak cursed, but his shot had thrown Motormaster off balance enough to give Prime the moment he needed to finish with Onslaught. Prime smashed his fist into the Combaticon’s face one more time, and then let the mech drop in a heap to the ground. He spun around, and Motormaster’s windshield spiderwebbed from the force of the blow.

Starscream shouted another order, firing at Sunstreaker as he edged toward the warehouse himself. He was definitely more organized than Megatron had been, or at least he was trying to be.

// _I lost Skywarp! I lost Skywarp!_ //

A purple flash appeared next to Starscream, Skywarp barely solidifying.

// _Wheeljack, they’re coming for you!_ // Prowl warned, his own rifle firing at Starscream and Skywarp. Acid green sizzled on purple, and both Seekers vanished.

Shots rang out from inside the warehouse, Grapple’s voice crying out in pain over the comms.

// _Autobots, converge!_ Prime bellowed, sprinting toward the warehouse.

// _Warp’s down!_ Wheeljack shouted.

// _Starscream, stop!_ // Perceptor demanded.

Skids dove at the door, clinging with his arms and legs to Starscream as he emerged, and making the Seeker stumble.

“Get off me, you fool!”

Bluestreak sighted in on them even as Starscream’s turbines whined. He was going to escape. Skids wouldn’t be able to hold on for long.

“Move. Move. Skids, move,” Bluestreak muttered. // _Skids, I have a shot, you need to move._ // Primus, it was perfect, but Skids’ doorwing was in the way.

// _I can’t let go!_ // Skids hung off Starscream’s body, legs twisting around one of the Seeker’s. // _He’ll fly off if I do._ //

“Slag.” Bluestreak shifted his aim just a micron to the right, then squeezed the trigger.

Skids’ cry echoed with Starscream’s, the container Perceptor had placed the plutonium in falling to the ground.

Everyone froze except Sunstreaker, who continued to pelt toward Starscream. He dove at the cylinder, shoulder rolling and lifting it, barely breaking stride as he ran for where Skyfire was swooping down to meet him.

Bluestreak’s spark throbbed. He was hot and cold, optics locked on the smoking hole in Skids’ door. // _Skids?_ //

“Frag me,” someone said.

Skids crawled away from Starscream, dragging himself over the dirt, face a mask of pain. Ironhide tackled Starscream, Cliffjumper pouncing only a half second later.

// _I’m ok,_ // Skids said. // _I’m ok, Blue._ //

“That was brutal.”

“Holy shit.”

“Damn, Bluestreak. Ice in your lines today,” Sideswipe said, clapping a hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder.

“Round up the prisoners,” Prime ordered as the Decepticons who could still fly away, fled in a hasty retreat.

Bluestreak crouched beside Ratchet. “How bad is it?”

“He’ll be fine,” Ratchet snapped, bending his face closer to the wound.

“I’m sorry, Skids.”

Skids smiled up at Bluestreak, one hand waving the apology away. “No, it’s fine. Really. We had to stop him. I couldn’t let go, but you couldn’t _not_ take the shot.”

Ratchet grumbled, but Bluestreak didn’t catch it, and he couldn’t stay there. There was work to be done and wounded to be tended.

“I can’t believe he did that.”

“That was cold.”

“Well, look at what he’s been through of late.”

Bluestreak pretended he didn’t hear any of them as he headed over to help a laughing Jazz lock up Decepticons in stasis cuffs.

What had he done? Where in the slag had he ever conceived that shooting _through_ Skids was an acceptable thing to do?

What kind of monster was he?

~ | ~

Bluestreak paced as he waited for Prowl and Jazz to show up. It was getting late, but they all knew it was going to be a long evening. The brig was full of Decepticons, Starscream, Soundwave, and Skywarp chief among them. He wished they’d get there already, but then chided himself for the selfishness. Things were bad enough without him pushing for more. He already had all he could ask for.

More than he should have.

Maybe.

Primus.

Bluestreak turned sharply, hands coming up to scrub his face. What was he doing? Really. What was he _really_ doing with Prowl and Jazz? Everyone thought it was wrong and sick. They thought Prowl and Jazz were using him, but they were wrong. It was Bluestreak using them. It was-

The door chime sounded, interrupting his thoughts, and Bluestreak took a moment to cycle his vents. They could discuss it afterwards. He would be selfish this one last time.

“Hey, Blue!” Jazz bounced into the room, Prowl smiling and following him with a calmer air.

“Hi.” Bluestreak forced himself to smile. “How’s everything going? Get all the Decepticons settled?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied, sitting in his spot on the sofa. “On both accounts.”

Jazz sat, but he was clearly keyed up and excited. Bluestreak smiled, genuinely this time, his spark pulsing affection. He turned away, making his doorwings flutter as he walked to the locker, hiding the sudden cold that washed through him. If he cared so much, why was he hurting them? Why did he _like_ saying those awful things to Jazz and hitting him? Making him cry?

Primus in the Pits! What would be said if they all knew he made _Jazz_ of all mechs cry?

“Blue?”

Bluestreak shoved it away. He needed to get a hold on himself. “Just thinking,” he said, and lifted his favorite cane. Something in his mind smoothed over as his fingers glided along the length. Turning, he gave Jazz a grin. “What do you need tonight?”

Jazz shivered, and both he and Prowl slid off the couch and moved to kneel in the middle of Bluestreak’s floor. “Feelin’ too good about things I shouldn’t. Make it hurt.” He presented his collar.

Prowl lifted his collar in his hands as well. “I feel… particularly lustful tonight.” His face glowed pink, optics shading to a darker blue. “Bind me tight so I can’t disobey.”

Bluestreak nodded, and then turned back for rope and cuffs. The blue he favored for Prowl was dropped in front of his knees, and then the cuffs for Jazz in front of him. Taking Jazz’s collar first he locked it, and then ordered, “Do not move.”

Prowl trembled as Bluestreak latched his collar around his neck, and was compliant and submissive as he was bound. Soft whimpers escaped, his doorwings twitching and vents working hard already. Bluestreak swept his hand over a hot interface panel as he shifted back to admire the knots of rich blue, and he stilled.

That was beyond their rules, though Prowl didn’t protest. Of course he wouldn’t, would he? Not in his current state. He was beyond words, already too aroused to speak or think clearly.

Bluestreak cycled his own vents, lifting a hand to stroke Prowl’s helm and soothe him. Beside them, Jazz was panting, optics bared and glowing as he stared at Prowl in naked want. He scooted closer on his knees, gaze flicking to Bluestreak’s face. A deliberate disobedience.

Without even thinking about it, Bluestreak struck. The blow was heavier than he meant it to be, making Jazz’s helm rock to the side. He almost apologized, but instead forced himself to his feet, the cuffs in hand.

“I said not to move,” he growled, jerking Jazz’s arms behind his back.

“Sorry, master,” Jazz said, the smirk clear in his tone.

Bluestreak wanted to smack the grin right off his face, but stood, snatching up the cane as he went. “I don’t think you are. Not in the least.”

The cane swung, snapping against the back of Jazz’s left shoulder. Bluestreak’s mouth was open, but no words came out. He clenched his jaw and struck again, then again. Jazz grunted, but wasn’t to pleading yet, and for some reason rage boiled up under Bluestreak’s spark. He _wanted_ to hurt Jazz. He wanted to hear him beg. He wanted to see the tears.

Primus, what was _wrong_ with him? They were right, he was sick. This was so fragged up. What was he doing? How could he do this to them? How could he have _shot_ Skids? Skids, who was so nice and never hurt anyone, and never had a mean thing to say. Bluestreak had shot him! Punched a bolt right through one of the most sensitive, sensor-laden parts on a Praxian, and he’d done it without hesitation.

_What have I become?_

“Master?” Jazz called softly.

Bluestreak opened his mouth to speak, but again, nothing came out.

“Bluestreak?” Prowl said, and shifted on his knees to better try to look up. He was bound in a way that wouldn’t allow him to straighten, but he tried anyway.

“Blue?”

A look passed between them, and Bluestreak shook his helm. The cane dropped from nerveless fingers. “There’s something so wrong with me,” he whispered, vision blearing.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Prowl said.

Bluestreak shook his helm. “Look what I did to Skids. Look what I’m doing to you!”

“Blue, we like this.” Jazz shuffled around on his knees too, a frown on his face. “We can-”

“We have to stop,” Bluestreak cut in. “We can’t do this anymore. This is so messed up.” His vents caught, and he shoved at the tears on his face. “They’re right, I’m sick. I’m cold. Something broke.”

He was broken.

There was a click, and Jazz twisted around to pull Prowl’s quick-release, leaving him to wriggle out of the rope as he turned back to Bluestreak. Warm hands caught Bluestreak’s hips and pulled, and Bluestreak let himself fold to the floor. He shook his helm even as he knelt and curled into Jazz’s arms.

A hand rested on Bluestreak’s helm, then Prowl pressed close to his back, plating warm between Bluestreak’s doorwings. “You are not sick. You are not cold. You made a decision today for the greater good, one even Skids understands and holds no animosity over. I’ve spoken to him. He is in good cheer, and even Ratchet said the damage was utterly minimal.”

Jazz crooned softly by Bluestreak’s audial as he hiccupped a sob and shook his helm again.

Prowl sighed and curled closer, pressing Bluestreak tightly between Jazz and himself. “It’s ok,” he murmured, lips brushing over Bluestreak’s audial. “Let it out. We’re here. You’re safe, and we love you.”

Bluestreak’s respiration stalled, frame tensing in surprise. What had Prowl just said? He had to have misheard.

Jazz’s humming stopped as he chuckled a little and pressed a kiss to Bluestreak’s cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, we love ya. So shocked?” Bluestreak could feel the wide smile Jazz wore. “Ain’t nothin’ ya do ta us that we don’t like, Blue. It ain’t sick. It ain’t wrong. Ya’re havin’ a time of it tonight, and if ya don’t wanna do it anymore, then we don’t, but me and Prowl, we like it. Ya make us real happy.”

“We want to make you happy as well.” Prowl nuzzled the back of Bluestreak’s neck. “Whatever that takes, but this seems like so sudden a change. What’s happened? This has to be more than just that shot you made earlier.”

Bluestreak chewed his lip for a moment. They didn’t know, but then they’d both been so busy of late, how could they possibly have kept up with the gossip going around? Not to mention that little… intervention Bluestreak was treated to had happened right before the battle.

Cycling his vents, Bluestreak straightened, and forced himself to meet Jazz’s optics. “Can I take the collars off? I need us on equal footing for this.”

Jazz’s helm bowed instantly so Bluestreak could see the clasp, and Prowl moved to kneel beside him. Once the collars were off, Bluestreak sat down, legs crossed, and fingers knotted in his lap.

“Why are you so upset?” Prowl asked as he tucked his collar into his subspace, then matched Bluestreak’s position, his right knee pressed to Bluestreak’s left.

Jazz settled in, finishing out their little triangle, one hand squeezing Bluestreak’s knee in a comforting gesture. “We meant it, ya know?”

Prowl nodded. “We’ve been so busy since Jazz returned that I’ve not had the chance to sit down like I wanted to, but my emotions- my affection for you has grown to more than just desiring our play sessions.” Fingertips caressed the side of Bluestreak’s face. “I love you.”

“Me too, and like I told Prowl back a while; the love ain’t gonna change if you don’t wanna play anymore, but we need to hear why ya’re so upset about it. We thought ya were happy, but if ya’re not, how can we help change that?”

Bluestreak scrubbed at his face, and cycled his vents. “It hasn’t been happening long, and at first I just blew it off, but then I kept tripping over mechs saying how wrong what you two are doing to me is. No one wants to listen to me. They think you’re both abusing me, and I said you weren’t, but it wasn’t anyone’s business that it’s me tying you both up and using you.”

“You aren’t using us, Bluestreak.” Prowl caught his wrist in a firm grasp. “This is mutual, or it’s nothing. There is no using going on. I do not feel used or abused at all.”

“Me either,” Jazz added.

“Do you?” Prowl asked.

Bluestreak shook his helm.

“Then they are wrong, and we are fine there,” Prowl declared. “So long as the three of us mean that, then what others think is irrelevant.”

“I’m thinkin’ there’s more though. Gotta be more, cuz now that I think about it, I’ve been gettin’ some funny looks.” Jazz shrugged. “Was just too busy ta think on it.”

“Yeah, there’s more.” Bluestreak sighed. “It’s all gossip in the halls, and how weak I am, and how they want to protect me from the two of you. They won’t listen!” he growled, the frustration making his fists clench. “Then today, just before the Decepticons attacked and the alarms started, I walked into the common room and got pounced by Smokescreen and a bunch of others all super concerned over how you guys are mistreating me. I _tried_ to tell them, but they were all so loud and talking all at once, and Smokescreen said Prime should be told-”

“He what?” Jazz growled, optics narrowing.

“It would scandalize him, but I shall march right out and tell Prime myself.” Prowl’s mouth pinched into a truly angry frown. “We are three fully mature mechs, and if Smokescreen thinks to disrupt our relationship by… by… _tattling_ , I’ve got some news for him.”

Jazz snickered, but quickly sobered when he caught sight of Bluestreak’s unhappy expression. “I’m sorry, Blue. They don’t have the right ta talk ta ya that way. Not and make ya doubt me and Prowl and how much we care for ya and how much we like what we all do together.”

“I’m sorry as well. Prime’s spark is in the right place, but planning and trying to keep him from rushing off to help Megatron regardless of the facts has thoroughly distracted me of late.” Prowl touched Bluestreak’s face again, wiping away the moisture there. “I did not mean to leave you to suffer rumors and gossip alone.”

Bluestreak cycled his respiration, relaxing a bit, his wings lifting a little. “So you both honestly, truly, _really_ enjoy all the things I do to you? Yelling and berating and breaking Jazz down, and tying you up, Prowl, and hitting you, Jazz, and… everything?”

“Not just like it, like it and love ya.” Jazz gave him a wide smile, and Bluestreak couldn’t help smiling a little himself.

Bluestreak couldn’t quite say it back yet. He felt it, but the idea of saying it made his face heat. “So we’re good. We keep going?”

“If you want to,” Prowl answered. “Only if you want to, Bluestreak.”

He was quiet for a moment. He was out of control today, but until now, until _this_ time, he had always enjoyed his dominance over them. They all fit together so well. Bluestreak didn’t think he could completely handle Prowl wanting all Jazz did, but he wouldn’t want Jazz to only want what Prowl did. They felt balanced.

Slowly, Bluestreak nodded. “Yes.” He met their optics, and repeated, “Yes. I want to. I’m sorry about-”

“Don’t be,” Prowl interrupted. “Truly, don’t be. I want you to be able to lean on us when you need to.

“Ain’t a one-way street, babe. You give ta us, but we gotta give back.”

“Ok.” Bluestreak flicked his doorwings, and smiled at them. “Ok. Think tonight we can all just pile on my berth and snuggle?”

Jazz chuckled, and Prowl grinned. “Yes. And tomorrow, we handle these nonsense rumors.”

“Sounds like ya got a plan.”

“When doesn’t he?” Bluestreak joked.

Prowl just smirked.

~ | ~

Bluestreak started the campaign by tracking down Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. “Hey.”

“Hey, Blue,” Sideswipe said, optics going wide. “You doing ok?”

Sunstreaker tucked away the datapad he’d been doodling on, and focused on Bluestreak as well. It was a bit disconcerting, but Prowl’s plans were always the best.

“Yeah, I’ve never not been. I just wanted to see where you heard those dumb rumors about me, ya know, because that’s all they are.” Bluestreak smirked a little, doorwings fluttering as he thought about Jazz and Prowl. “They’ve also got the whole thing wrong and backwards. I mean, I’m not a submissive at all.”

There was a beat, then the twins’ optics went wide and bright, Sunstreaker’s mouth dropping open.

“Anyways, it’s really annoying, and while I totally appreciate everyone caring about me so much, I don’t like being told that what I do with my lovers is sick or wrong. We’re mature, consenting mechs who are all three really good at communicating our needs to one another, and I just would like to find the source of these silly rumors, because really, it’s getting kinda upsetting, ya know?”

Two helms rocked up and down in nods. Sideswipe shifted, pressing closer to his twin. “We’re sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Bluestreak smiled. “I know everyone’s just looking out for me, but in this case, I really don’t need it.”

Sunstreaker reset his vocalizer, plating ruffling up before settling again. “I think it was… Was it Beachcomber we first heard it from?”

“Yeah, him and Smokescreen were talking about it,” Sideswipe replied.

Bluestreak smiled wider. “Cool, thanks. I’ll go talk to them and make sure they know everything’s ok too. Will you guys clear it up with anyone else that brings it up with you? I mean, if someone’s really worried, they can totally comm me, or even Jazz and Prowl if they want, I just don’t want anyone worrying over nothing.”

Four aquamarine optics blinked in unison, and both twins nodded. Bluestreak suppressed the urge to smirk at their clear embarrassment, and gave them both a wave. “See ya later!”

“Yeah. Bye.”

~ | ~

“Hey, Bee,” Jazz said, dropping into a chair across the table from Bumblebee.

Ah, there was that deer-in-the-headlights look. “Hi, Jazz.”

“Been hearin’ some rumors.”

Bumblebee’s optics paled.

“I’d’ve expected a mech under my command woulda come ta me if he had concerns the likes I’ve been hearin’.”

Bumblebee heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging. “I know, Jazz. I’m sorry. It’s just they all seemed so concerned, and… well, I know you.” He gave Jazz a _look_. “I should have come to you, but it’s Bluestreak. He’s so-”

“Mech, if you say anything along the lines of ‘delicate’ or ‘fragile’, I might not forgive ya.”

Bumblebee’s mouth clamped shut.

“Look, we all get it,” Jazz said. “Blue’s got one of the sweetest sparks around and mechs wanna look after him, but the fact is, he knows what he’s doin’. Me and Prowl, he takes damn good care of us in a way we need. He’s happy, or was ‘til all this slag started circulatin’. Y’all upset him a lot.”

Guilt etched Bumblebee’s face. “I’m sorry. No, really, I’m very sorry. I’ll apologize to him, and Prowl too.”

Jazz waved that off. “If ya want, but all we really want is that whenever ya hear that nonsense, shut it down. We belong ta Blue as much as he belongs ta us, and without goin’ inta details ain’t no one need, I can promise ya, we’re all consentin’, sane, and safe about what we do.”

Bumblebee’s optics widened, understanding truly dawning. “Bluestreak’s a-”

“Yeah.” Jazz grinned. “It’s nice for me an’ Prowl ta put aside our authority now and then.”

Mouth forming a silent ‘O’, Bumblebee nodded. “Ok. Yeah, I’ll… Wow. Wow, Smokescreen had that so backwards.”

“He the one ya heard it from first?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Jazz smiled, patted the table, and then stood. “Thanks, Bee.”

~ | ~

Bluestreak sat in his chair, Prowl and Jazz in their places on his sofa, and dipped his chin in a nod. “Yep. Smokescreen again. He was mentioned every time. Sometimes it was another mech too, but Smokescreen was always there.”

“Same for me,” Jazz said.

“Likewise,” Prowl sighed, mouth twisting to the side in clear irritation. “All those I approached mentioned how worried everyone was when talking about it. They were all very apologetic, but sited Smokescreen’s ‘deep concern’ as why they felt the need to protect you.” He snorted, doorwings flicking. “If he was ever so concerned about us abusing you, Bluestreak, then why’s he been hanging around my office, fluttering at me, bringing me cubes of energon, and doing his level best to be charming and seductive?”

“Needs a beatin’,” Jazz said, and flashed a grin that wasn’t all that friendly. “And not like I like.”

Bluestreak snorted. “I’m not touching him.”

“Neither am I,” Prowl said, “and that might just be our core issue. Has he come on to either of you?”

Both Bluestreak and Jazz shook their helms no.

Prowl wore a disgruntled look. “Such nonsense is no good at all for morale of the crew. Especially with Starscream and Soundwave willing to work toward a real peace finally. Besides being completely juvenile, we truly do not have time for such nonsense.”

“No kidding. And I don’t want slagging Smokescreen trying to sabotage our relationship,” Bluestreak said. “I really want to see where this can go. Like you said, especially now.”

“Damn right.”

Prowl gave them a short grin. “I believe I have an idea, though we’ll have to enlist some help.”

~ | ~

Bluestreak shook his helm as he watched Mirage’s live feed from the common room. “I can’t believe he’s still at this.”

“Me either,” Jazz growled.

A few mechs scowled and wondered a little about it, their comments vague, but they must have been enough for Smokescreen. Mirage shifted aside, his camera clearly catching he triumphant smirk Smokescreen wore as he left the common room.

 _”What utter nonsense,”_ Mirage said after he shut down his electro disrupter, and strode toward the main occupied table. _”That mech clearly knows nothing,”_ he huffed.

Bumblebee stood from a different table, and approached too. _”Yeah. I mean come on. Prowl and Jazz as abusers?”_

 _”Someone’s jealous,”_ Mirage sniffed.

Sideswipe snickered. _”I know I am. Blue could spank me any time.”_  
Laughter filled the common room, and Bluestreak could almost see Prowl’s helm shaking when he sighed over their open comms.

// _I rather wish they wouldn’t gossip about us._ //

// _Yeah, babe, but this’ll stop soon enough. Somethin’ else’ll catch their attention._ //

// _It’s ok, Prowl. At least it’s all ‘teehee, Blue can dom me’, and not ‘oh no, poor widdle Bluestreak’, anymore,_ // Bluestreak said.

// _True, but I still dislike- Ah, I believe our guest is here,_ // Prowl said. // _How can I help you, Smokescreen?_ //

Beside Bluestreak, Jazz growled a low, grinding note.

“Come on,” Bluestreak whispered, and tugged on his arm. They needed to go make their appearance.

Smokescreen was just walking to Prowl’s desk, hips swaying, doorwings arching high and fluttering when Bluestreak saw him. He and Jazz slipped in behind him, letting the office door close.

“Heard a little rumor about you,” Smokescreen purred.

Prowl smirked. “Oh, did you?”

Smokescreen’s doorwings perked a bit in surprised reaction.

“Do you know what I heard?” Prowl asked, voice dipping toward coy.

“What did you hear?”

Bluestreak rolled his optics.

All pretense at amusement dropped off Prowl’s face. “That you have been running around to everyone who gives you a tenth of a chance to be heard, saying that Jazz and I are abusing Bluestreak.”

Smokescreen’s doorwings snapped up into a sharp ‘V’, his plating clamping tighter as Prowl slowly stood, his voice low with undeniable rage.

“Beyond the three of us being incredibly offended, I’m personally disappointed by you.” Prowl lifted a datapad. “This is my report to Optimus Prime regarding the situation, which I can barely bring myself to believe I had to write, or that I have to waste his time with it.

“We are striving for _peace **finally**_ , and one of our own is spreading vicious lies about us. Can you not see how, not only utterly ridiculous that is, but also the blatant harm you could cause the treaty process? I do not have time for this. Prime does not have time for this.”

“I don’t-”

“So help me Primus, Smokescreen, if you dare say you didn’t spread any rumors, _I’ll_ be spending the night in the brig!”

Bluestreak shared a startled look with Jazz, but then they both quickly looked away, Bluestreak having to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Primus, Smokescreen still hadn’t noticed they were there, which, given the doorwings, was stunningly unobservant of him, but this was too entertaining, so Bluestreak didn’t want to ruin it by giggling.

“This kind of behavior will _not_ be tolerated. Manage your emotions better, because attempting to hurt the mechs I love will certainly never win you a chance with me. In fact, allow me to be entirely blunt and clear. You cannot win me. Ever. I am not a prize, but more importantly, I do not desire you and never have, and your behavior of late has only served to discredit you entirely.” Prowl’s optics shifted to Bluestreak. “Anything to add?”

Smokescreen whipped around, optics wide and bled nearly to white.

Bluestreak gave him a hurt frown. “Only that I can’t believe you’d do this to us. To _me_. I thought we were friends.”

Smokescreen’s doorwings drooped. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Not even five minutes ago in the common room?” Prowl asked. “We were all watching. That looked and sounded incredibly deliberate to me. If not to hurt Bluestreak, then to what end?”

A sigh was heaved. “Fine. I’m sorry, ok?” Smokescreen crossed his arms over his chest, lower lip stuck out in a peevish sulk.

“Are you?” Bluestreak asked. “I mean do you even get how much you hurt me? How upsetting all that slag was? And you wouldn’t even have had a chance with Prowl anyways, so why the frag do it? Are you that mean? Do you get-”

“Yes!” Smokescreen snapped, and then seemed to realize it. “Yes,” he repeated more quietly. “I understand. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

A slow, predatory smile curved across Jazz’s mouth. “I know ya won’t.”

Smokescreen’s optics when wide, doorwings angling back and plating drawing in close.

“You are dismissed. Now leave,” Prowl ordered.

Smokescreen couldn’t get out of the office fast enough, and Bluestreak had to bite back the urge to laugh again as the other Praxian was forced to squeeze carefully between Jazz and himself.

Prowl was less amused as he began gathering up datapads. “He’s going to bear watching.”

“Yay,” Bluestreak deadpanned. “Like we don’t have enough of that to do with the ‘Cons.”

“We’ll manage,” Jazz said.

“Yes, we will.” Prowl double checked a final datapad, then moved around his desk. “Now that that is dealt with, Jazz and I need to get to the meeting. It’s due to start in a few minutes.”

“Don’t want to keep Starscream waiting,” Bluestreak said with a grin. He leaned in and kissed Prowl, then moved to Jazz. “Don’t work too hard.”

Jazz chuckled, kiss warm and promising more. “We’ll try. See ya t’night.”

Bluestreak waved after them, then turned down the hall the other way. He wanted to thank Mirage personally, then see if he could wheedle Sideswipe into making him some treats for tonight. Jazz and Prowl deserved a little something extra, and Bluestreak wanted to spoil them.


End file.
